Today is dragging ASS… Yesterday, after what Orpheus recently told me was 20 days in the shop, I got my car back. And other than two eency-weency, teeny-tiny things, it’s better by far than it was before it went in (or even before the accident). Unfortunately, those two things involve the dome light no longer working when I get into the car (though it will light up when the switch is turned on the light-stalk), and the horn not working at all. I just can’t afford a new horn right now, and when I can, it may just be kinda funny to get one that plays the Mexican hat dance, as that’s how ghetto I feel tooling around in a bronze-colored grandpa sled. Perhaps I will have the car put up on lifts, as well.
In any case, I’m now reading Mark Bittman’s new book, ‘Food Matters: A Guide to Conscious Eating”, and am utterly depressed. Apparently, as a chemical process, breaking down refined sugars and digesting any refined (read: white) wheat flour are all but indistinguishable in the human animal. This means that, every time I pick up a piece of white bread, I might as well have stuffed myself with cane sugar. I want god dead for designing humans so that we need to eat like f-ing hippies just to live past the age of 60. Shit, why’d it make us smart enough to improve our lot in life if we’d still spend half our time on the planet messing ourselves with teeth falling out everywhere. Asshole!
Further, the phone system at work went to pot today, leaving every incoming call completely and utterly unidentified. When customers are too stupid to enter their own account numbers when prompted, it’s usually my pet peeve… Today, I’m trying to take things slowly, and just de-stress. Oddly, the calls themselves are pretty easy (knock on fiber-board), much easier than they were yesterday or the day before. I guess not having any caller info to start is the karmic debt thereof! Anyway, tonight is probably going to be the kind of joyless that involves fish instead of what I really want to eat, so wish me well, as I wish well all of you, my possibly fictitious readers.
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